Pass the bread, please...

Here's the conversation:

"Pass the bread, please."

Bread basket is passed, the butter follows. Bread and butter meet. Bread enters mouth.

"This is really good rye bread. Where did you get it."

"Terra Breads."

"Hmm... it's good. Have you tried the rye bread from Cobs?"

"Yes, but they don't always make it. The Cobs on Broadway stopped making it altogether and the one on Fourth Avenue makes it only every third Tuesday when there also happens to be a quarter moon."

"Venice Bakery used to make really good rye bread, but it's not as good anymore. The rye bread from Costco is pretty good though."

"Costco? You're kidding, right?"

"No. It's surprisingly good."

"I've heard about a bakery on Fraser street, somewhere near 57th, that's supposed to make good rye bread, but I haven't tried it."

"I heard a rumour that there's a good one in Coquitlam at Burquitlam Plaza, but they only bake rye bread once a month and you have to order ahead.

***

Okay, maybe this conversation isn't quite accurate, but there's a standing joke in our house (started by my non-Finn husband) that no gathering for a meal of my Finnish family is complete without a discussion of rye bread and where to find the best loaf. I guess you can take the Finn out of Finland, but you can't take the rye bread out of the Finn.

Despite my being a born and raised Canadian, I can't quite shed my Finnish roots. I love many things Finnish: a good, hot sauna complete with a leap into an icy lake so cold that breathing momentarily stops, a slice of cardamom scented sweet bread still warm from the oven and, best of all, good rye bread.

Before we settled on Metchosin for our experiment in converting ourselves into organic farmers, we had been searching the Cowichan Valley for property. While we didn't find the land we were looking for, we did come across a fantastic source of rye bread: True Grain Bread. In this small bakery in Cowichan Bay, some of the finest bread that I've ever tasted is baked. And while many a loaf are excellent, the Ring 'o Rye is the best. But, they don't bake many of these beauties and they aren't open Mondays or Tuesdays, so if you want to sample it, get there early Wednesday to Sunday. And, while you're there, you might as well stay for lunch. Stop next door at Hilary's Cheese. You'll find some outstanding locally made cheese layered onto bread from True Grain, as well as the best soup I've tasted that hasn't come out of my own soup pot.

Recently I was in need of rye bread and we all needed a bit of an excursion after being snowed in for many a day, so we made the hour drive to Cow Bay. We weren't disappointed. A few bowls of soup and many loaves of bread later and all was well in the world again.

For your viewing pleasure, I offer you a look at a Ring 'o Rye and how it should be served. Now, doesn't that make you want to be a Finn?

winter has arrived

This afternoon, in my Kitsilano rubber boots, the ones with pink and green swirls on a black background, I went outside to heft a shovel over my shoulder and check that the drains outside our house were draining and the ditches outside our property were, well, ditching. I do own much more utilitarian boots - plain black rubber, solid footbed, thick sole - suited to serious garden and outdoor work. But today's objective didn't include serious work, simply a quick check to make sure we wouldn't soon be driving up our property value with the addition of an indoor swimming pool. 

Besides, I don't often get a chance to wear my Kits rubber boots these days so I was happy to get out in them. They were fine for walks to the beach on rainy days, but if I'm going to be a serious farmer, I must wear serious farm boots. Swirly pink and green fairly scream city newbie and I'm already worried that we leave a wake of people shaking their heads behind us. And so, my Kits boots usually venture only as far as our property line, and only when I'm alone and not contemplating any serious work that might put a scratch in the paint, so to speak.

Boots on, I headed out to survey the winter scene. And Old Man Winter has indeed come to Metchosin. Local media are reporting an accumulation of 41 cm of snow, more than is currently measured at the North Pole. Given the amount of snow, my first concern (after the issue of the  indoor swimming pool) was the safety of the locals. So, first stop was a quick check on one of them. He seemed happy enough, despite being up to his armpits in snow.

The next local I visited also seemed to be faring well, perhaps too well. Such a hardy critter will surely be unfazed by any attempts on our part to protect our newly-sprouting veggies come spring time. This is one well-fed looking long-ears. All I can say is that his lucky rabbit's feet are working for him. If we weren't a couple of vegetarians, his days would be numbered.

I continued to crunch along, breaking through the frozen crust of the snow. Even before I got to the ditches I could hear the water flowing. No need for the shovel over my shoulder. Since temperatures have risen in the last few days, the melt has started but, fortunately, water seems to be flowing in the right direction. 

A quick visit to the seasonal pond was next. It has been appropriately seasonal and filled up. I would never have imagined in summertime that this grassy expanse could possible form a pond. But, there it is, complete with an island in the middle. The ice on its surface is now reduced to a few slushy flows drifting in the current, but last week in the middle of this snowy period, it was a postcard scene waiting for the camera to arrive.

Environment Canada is predicting a warm, wet stretch over the next while. Does this mean that spring is soon to make an arrival and that we won't see any more of this?

Or this?

There's lots to be said for seeing the snow go. It's difficult to get around, the boys can't get out so easily (and it takes forever to get them ready to go out) and the cat gets cabin fever and starts chewing on us. 

In some ways, though, I'll miss the snow. The quiet that falls with the flakes and blankets us in its embrace. The shock of pressing a warm nose to a cold window pane and watching the snow disappear in a fog of breath. The snuggle of two small boys in flannel pajamas when they crawl into our bed on a dark morning and knowing that it's another day of hot chocolate and popcorn and games.

If Old Man Winter wants to stay a bit longer, that's okay. Besides, it would give me a chance to wear my Kitsilano boots again.

Brussels sprouts, the new "it" vegetable

Which would you rather do: 1) get your annual flu shot, or 2) consume a helping of brussels sprouts? If you're like most people - or, at least, most people I know - you'll choose option number one.

The poor brussels sprout has somehow earned a reputation as a vegetable of the lower order, well behind the socially-acceptable broccoli, the ubiquitous carrot, even the sometimes-marginalized cauliflower. But I aim to change the standing of the lowly brussels sprout.

Recently, in our quest to educate ourselves about the farming community of Metchosin, we made a visit to Bilston Creek Organics, a farm run Nao and Trevor Peterson. While we were admiring their green houses and discussing what grows well and what sells well, I couldn't help but notice a long row of brussels sprouts marching down the length of one of their fields. And so, being an enthusiastic sprout eater and never one to pass up the opportunity for a local, organic veg, I offer to take a couple of stalks off of their hands.

As I was loading the brussels sprouts into the back of the car, I realized that most people do not even know what a brussels sprout looks like in its natural state. Their only experience of them is in the produce section of the grocery store where they lie like a heap of Lilliputian-sized green cabbages being passed over in preference of the above named "acceptable" veggies.  For those of you scratching your heads and saying to yourselves "what do they look like in their natural state?" fear not - I will keep you from losing sleep over this one. Here, for your edification, is a pic of brussels sprouts in all their green glory.

Leaves on,

leaves off.

Those darling sprouts simply need to be removed from the stalk with a sharp knife, given a good rinsing, have a few outer leaves peeled off and Bob's your uncle - a delectable veggie treat awaits you.

Stop cringing. It is possible to make brussels sprouts absolutely delish. 

First off, please remember that brussels sprouts are not meant to be eaten with a straw. That means don't over cook them! They should stand up and fight back when you stab them with your fork. You could settle for simply steaming them, but here's a way that will bring even the most reluctant sprout eater to the table asking for more.

Take 25 or so brussels sprouts and give them a rinse. Remove outer leaves to reveal a perfectly glowing green globe of tender leaves tucked around each other. Give them a quick blanching in rapidly boiling water. The sprouts should be a vibrant green, calling to mind fresh spring growth. Quickly drain and plunge into ice water to stop the cooking process ( remember: no straws required). Finely mince a thumb-sized piece of ginger. Sauté the ginger in a bit of butter for 30 seconds or so, add in a tablespoon or two of brown sugar and the drained brussels sprouts. Squeeze the juice of half an orange into the pan. Keep stirring until the sprouts are heated through. Serve immediately. Keep a cricket bat handy to beat back the crowds. Yes, you must share but you want to make sure that you're rewarded for your effort with a sampling of this tasty treat.

May you embrace the beauty of the brussels sprout the way that I have and join me in my quest to elevate the standing of this woefully misunderstood veggie.

A Field Trip to Sooke

Last weekend we decided to take a break from the farming life to explore our surroundings. Destination? Whiffen Spit at the far west side of Sooke. It was almost like a Sunday morning walk at Kits beach. Except that there were hardly any people. And the few that were there weren't drinking cups of Starbucks coffee. Nor were they draped head to toe in Lululemon. Or talking on cell phones. Or dodging packs of Sunday morning long runners. Okay, I guess it wasn't anything like a Sunday morning at Kits beach. But it was beautiful...

And then this, on the drive back home. We're definitely not in Kansas anymore. Buffy's must be the place to be.

Speaking of burning...

You recall that old green house and chicken coop and fencing that we had multi-talented Septic Steve have a go at with his excavator? And those five small pines and the unfortunately located birch tree that had to go? And all the overgrown shrubbery that we've slowly been hacking back? Have you wondered where it's all gone?

It's been accumulating in four large piles towards the back of our property. The "burn piles" we call them. In truth, they're a bit of an eye-sore, four large piles of broken two by fours, bits of plywood, dead limbs of trees, knots of roots. So, inspired by the recent public burning that we attended, we decided that it was time to get on with our own burning. 

But, before striking a match, it's time for a bylaw check: 

1. No burning on Sundays. Hmmm... will we burn somewhere else if we burn on Sunday? Better not risk it.

2. Maximum fire size is 6'x6'x6'. I can live with that. Quite frankly, I don't want to see a 6'x6'x6' fire anywhere near our house.

3. As a courtesy to the neighbours, check the ventilation index. It seems there is something new to learn every time we embark on a project here. Little did I know that there is such a thing as a ventilation index.

So, smallish fires, Monday to Saturday, but only on days with good ventilation. Yesterday and today were just such days. And so, the match was struck...

Where there is smoke, there will, hopefully, be fire.

Just a few more tree branches to really get this humming.

And we have fire! 

And watching over all of the madness, making sure that nothing (and  no one) got out of line, our very own fire marshall, at the ready with the hose. Thankfully, there were no wild flames needing attention, only the occasional hosing down of a parent.

I'm happy to report that at the end of two days of burning, during which I found many muscles that have lain dormant since my last step aerobics class in 1987, our inventory consists of one and half burn piles and one extremely large pile of ash.

Next project: find a use for ash but be sure to check bylaws for any restrictions on its use.

Progress Report

You may be wondering if we are spending all of our time here going to Hallowe'en events, meeting with Ladies Who Lunch and hanging out with Preschool families. Though those things are occupying some of our time, we are actually getting work done around here to turn this place into a farm (I prefer to call this place a micro-farm).

So, after having our big knock-down, drag-out event that cleared out the old (chicken coop, green house, fencing) we've made way for the new. 

Jim, the mechanic at the local volunteer fire hall, who plows fields in his spare time, brought around his tractor and had a go and our wee fields.

Once the plowing was done, the seeding of the winter cover crop could begin. We planted a combination of vetch, winter wheat and pea. The idea is to let this grow over the winter and then turn it into the soil in the spring before planting time. It will feed the soil and help build structure. That is if the family of quails leaves any seed behind. They come through everyday, darting out from the thicket of blackberry bushes at the side of the property, and have a peck at the ground. We'll have to watch for signs of sprouting. If nothing happens but the quails get fatter we'll know where the seed has gone.

And then, we planted garlic, about 100 cloves in all. Next year we'll either be eating a lot of garlic or learning about which animal has Mediterranean roots and likes to sneak through and chow down on our plantings. I don't think the quail are interested though. They seem to be sticking to the cover crop seed.

There's something to be said for a public burning. 

It draws people out of doors. They forget their political differences and gather together, mesmerized by the lick of flame, the brush of heat on the skin and the prospect of crisped up marshmallows.

We attended our first Metchosin Hallowe'en event on Friday evening. Trick or Treating is out of the question here - the houses are too far apart and it's so, so dark. There's no light pollution to speak of, just that "can't see your hand in front of your face" effect. And so, off to the Volunteer Fire Hall for the community event.

Though we're only an eight minute walk from the Fire Hall (which might be useful when it comes time for us to tackle our own burn piles out back - never hurts to have help close at hand) we decided to drive there. Fortunately, we planned to go for the start of the event. Had we left later, we might have been parking almost at our house, the cars were stacked up so far down the side of the road.

And what did we see? The biggest burn pile I've ever laid eyes on. It had to be 20 feet high before they tossed the match.

And I say "tossed the match" euphemistically. They used a "tiger torch" to light it up. What is a tiger torch you ask? Basically, a huge blow torch attached to a propane tank. You could do some good weed clearing with that thing! 

So, we stood in the glow of the flames, watching the volunteer fire fighters hose down the surrounding trees and the BMX bike park, and taking in the scent of smoke mixed with hotdogs. A reliable source (Jim, who by night rototills fields with his tractor - namely ours - and by day works as the mechanic at the firehall) reports that last year they went through 600 hotdogs. Rural legend or fact? You decide. But, as I say, the source is reliable.

We had to take our little dinosaurs home before the marshmallows came out for toasting and the fireworks started up. Bedtime took precedence. But I can see that this will be a good event for our little family in years to come.

This coming Friday we're going to a different sort of public burning: we're going to an all candidates meeting for the upcoming Metchosin elections. This is a hotbed of political opinions and conflicting ideas. Hopefully, the community will once again gather together amicably but this time, without the need of the fire fighters to put out the flames.